


Good Manners

by AsymmetricalButterfly



Category: Tennis RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-12
Updated: 2018-02-12
Packaged: 2019-03-17 07:39:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13654491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AsymmetricalButterfly/pseuds/AsymmetricalButterfly
Summary: After their meeting at the Fast4 Showdown in Sydney, Sascha finds himself thinking about how it felt to have his body pressed against Nick's...





	Good Manners

It was worth it. Well, he thought it was worth it; Nick probably didn’t think having a tennis ball in his face was the ideal preparation for the Australian Open, but for a few glorious seconds he’d been able to press his body against Nick’s in a show of apology, his head against his chest hearing the beat of his heart. And then they laughed and returned the game, because that’s the way it had to go. 

Their relationship had been different in the last year or so, since they were both at the top of the game and all eyes were on this ‘great future rivalry’ when they were on opposite sides of the net. It wasn’t really shaping up to be so ‘great’ in Sascha’s mind, Nick had intoxicated his thoughts and beat him decisively three times. Things weren’t much better off the court either, where Nick would give the briefest of nods in his direction before losing himself in his phone. Even that day, his attempts at engaging Nick in jokey conversations for Instagram had been met by guarded answers and eyes firmly fixed on the screen showing Lleyton and Grigor’s match. 

Mindlessly, Sascha reached for his phone to look for a distraction from the enigmatic Aussie and opened up Instagram. It didn’t prove to me much of one as he was immediately met with the small icon holding Nick’s latest Instagram story. Unable to resist, he clicked it and for once his attention wasn’t taken by Nick, but by the tag below his face, his heart skipping a beat at the naming of Nick’s hotel. They were in the same hotel. A whole realm of possibilities flashed through his mind and he reached out for the phone in the room he was staying in. 

"Hello, this is reception speaking. How might I help you?" The woman chirped on the other end of the line.

"Err," Sascha cleared his throat gruffly, "I’ve just checked my bag and found a racket belonging to another player. I know he’s staying in this hotel and wondered if you could help…"

"Of course, sir. I can send somebody up to your room to collect the racket and return it."

"NO!" That had come out a little louder than he intended, "I mean, no, there’s no need to trouble yourself. I can return it if you give me his room number."

There was a pause that indicated wariness on the other end of the line and this little plan was quickly slipping out of his hands. 

"We’re very good friends and it would be nice to see a friendly face, being so far away from home. Nick Kyrgios?"

He heard the tapping of a keyboard on the other end of the phone and then a pause, "A Mr Nicholas Kyrgios?" 

Sascha smiled into the phone. A name as ‘proper’ as Nicholas never quite sat right for the feisty, flashy Nick that he knew. "Yes, that's him."

"It’s not usually our policy, but as you already know each other… Room 701. Is there anything else I can help you with?" 

"No, you’ve helped plenty," Sascha said with a smile before replacing the phone in the receiver. 

Now he had the number, he wasn’t entirely sure what to do with it. It was getting on for 11pm and the chances were that Nick was already asleep, but by morning he could already be on a plane for Melbourne and the opportunity would be gone. No, he had to do something. He strode over to the mini bar and fumbled through the baked goods to grab two bottles of beer. Two friends drinking beer together, it wasn’t such a ridiculous excuse to turn up at his door this late at night.

The hotel corridors were empty and his breath caught in his mouth as the two bottles clinked together, echoing down the hallway. The last thing he needed was headlines reporting that he was charging round hotel corridors, clinging on to expensive bottles of Australian beer. That would be just about more embarrassing than what he was about to do. Reaching the door to 701, he raised his hand to knock before holding himself back. Adrenaline had pushed him this far and now realisation was starting to clear the clouding of his mind. There were so many possibilities; Nick could be asleep and grumpily send him away to spend a sleepless night cursing how ridiculous he’d been, Matt or Christos could be there and he’d be stuck playing FIFA until he could make a polite exit, or neither of those things would apply and the awkwardness would still exist between them. He could take a sleep rebuttal or a video game rebuttal, but that would cut right through him. 

Down the corridor, he heard the swinging of a door and realised how absurd he looked caught in suspended animation with his fist raised to knock. He swallowed and allowed his fist to gently rap the door, half hoping that there’d be no response. The other half won out though with a rush of pleasure as he heard soft footsteps on the other side of the door and gentle click of the lock. The door opened to show a drowsy looking Nick, wearing a basketball vest and pair of lounge pants. Slowly he brought his eyes up to meet Nick’s, which were looking back at him suspiciously. 

"I thought we could hang out," Sascha said, raising the beers and wiggling them in the air, inwardly groaning at just how much of an idiot that gesture must have made him look. 

"At 11 at night? You, Mr Professionalism, want to hang out at 11 at night?" Nick said, a flicker of amusement in the midst of the suspicion. 

"All I’ve got tomorrow is a short trip on a private jet to look forward to. I can take a night off." 

Nick eyed him for a moment before shrugging and stepping aside to let Sascha into the room, where he was met with the bed still showing the outline of Nick’s body. His eyes followed the trail of discarded clothes that led Nick to the bed and then to the man they belonged to. He offered a beer to him which he accepted, and they both stood there enveloped by the awkwardness that he had dreaded, unable to quite meet one another’s gazes. 

"You’ve got a better view than me," Sascha commented, staring ahead to the window. 

"Home digs, brother."

Sascha nodded and moved to open his beer, as much to fill the time and silence as anything else. With the release of air from the bottle neck came a release of liquid that left the front of Sascha’s shirt covered in splats of beer and a pool of foaming liquid on the carpet. Beside him, he heard a snort and turned to see Nick’s face finally broken into a smile. 

"Oh man, what did you expect lugging them around a hotel with those lanky arms?" Nick asked, as he entered the bathroom in search of a towel. 

"We should have used your mini bar. Then I would have dry clothes and the beer would have been charged to your room," Sascha teased. 

Returning to the room, Nick smiled and began rubbing at the damp patch on the front of the t-shirt, his free hand lightly holding Sascha’s hip to keep the t-shirt in place. Despite himself, Sascha couldn’t help but look down at the hand, admiring the long, elegant fingers pressed so gently against his body. The hand shifted slightly to lift the t-shirt before stopping and leaving the t-shirt completely. 

"I’ll let you finish the rest," Nick said, passing the towel to Sascha. 

Sascha lifted his t-shirt to dry his stomach and dared to steal a glance at Nick who, out of the corner of his eye, looked upon the firm peaks of Sascha’s stomach muscles before clenching his jaw and lightly nudging the t-shirt lying on the floor with his foot. 

"We haven’t hung out for a while," Nick mused. 

Sascha threw the towel onto the rumpled sheets of the bed and took a step closer to Nick, "No, we haven’t." 

Nick turned to face him and studied the face of the other man curiously, his dark eyes following the contours of Sascha’s face and finally meeting his eyes. Just inches were between their faces and all around them was silent, neither moving a muscle. 

"So what’s changed?" Nick asked, breaking the moment. 

"I thought I should come and check your lips," Sascha said evenly. 

"My lips?" Nick asked, his voice betraying a slight trace of emotion. 

"Sure. A tennis ball to the lips has got to hurt," Sascha said, the image of nonchalance. 

In that microsecond, the careful confidence in Nick’s countenance was replaced by a guardedness. There had been a moment though, a moment in between where he had seen something in the face of the other man, something that looked very much like disappointment. Another chance to be so close to Nick wasn’t likely to happen again any time soon and he knew he’d be filled with regret if he didn’t make something of the opportunity so he stepped closer, only a fraction of an inch but close enough to hear the uneven, uncertain breathing of his counterpart. Dropping his gaze, he looked upon the lips of Nick, noticing the slight bump on the perfectly pouted ridge of Nick’s bottom lip. Barely confident of what he was doing, he lifted his hand and lightly brushed his thumb over the bump. The sound of Nick’s swallowing resonated between them, but he didn’t move to stop him. 

"Alex…" Nick said, warily. 

"Does it hurt?" Sascha asked, gently tracing the entire length of Nick’s bottom lip. 

"A little," Nick acknowledged. 

Sascha bowed his head and lowered his hand slightly to Nick’s jawline, tilting Nick’s head to meet his. He felt his nose brush along Nick’s and, gently, he allowed his lips to meet Nick’s and paused, waiting for any sign of rebuffal, before enveloping the swollen mound of Nick’s lower lip. A second or so passed and he felt Nick soften against him and let his own lips to melt against Sascha’s, his hand slipping under the cotton of his t-shirt and lightly pressing against Sascha’s back. The moment passed as soon as it began though and Nick took a sudden step back, his body clenched. 

"This is crazy," Nick declared. 

"Really? I was quite enjoying it," Sascha said, trying to keep the tone light. 

"You’re number four in the world, I’m…I’m trying to keep things on the level this year. This shouldn’t have happened." 

"But you wanted it to?" A hopeful tone crept into Sascha’s voice. 

Nick looked at Sascha for a moment before nodding, "Yeah, I guess I did." 

Expecting to be rebuffed once more, Sascha took Nick’s hands in his own and rested his forehead against his. To his surprise, Nick allowed the act of affection and sighed deeply, closing his eyes. 

"It would be bad manners not to apologise," Sascha pondered, "How about for one night you let me apologise?" 

"One night?" Nick asked, his eyes remaining closed. 

"One night," Sascha confirmed. 

A smile played around Nick’s lips and, for the first time, he made the move bringing his lips to Sascha’s, teasing them gently open with his tongue as ran his hands up the inside of Sascha’s t-shirt, pressing himself into the muscles that he’d stolen a glance of just minutes earlier. Barely believing that Nick was allowing this happen, Sascha snaked his hand around the back of Nick’s neck, pulling him into him, hungrily threading his tongue against Nick’s through the slight parting of mouth. 

.....

Later that night, the air thick with the scent of what had just unfolded, Sascha smiled into his pillow as he softly stroked the arm that lay around his waist. Across the back of his neck he felt the gentle tickle of his hair being parted by the warmth of Nick’s slow and even breaths. It was hard to tell from the pace of the breaths whether or not Nick had fallen asleep; he wanted to turn and look at Nick’s sleeping face, taking every in every angle and curve of it. He didn’t dare to though, the movement would risk waking Nick and then they’d be confronted with the possibilities of actually talking which wasn’t part of the deal. Besides, it wasn’t all so bad lying encapsulated in Nick’s arms. 

Giving in to his own heavy tiredness, Sascha closed his eyes but was almost immediately started by a slight shaking of Nick’s body. He turned in confusion to be met by a wicked glint of laughter in Nick’s eyes. 

"I was just wondering where my racket is, mate?" Nick asked, struggling to hide his amusement. 

"Your racket?" Realisation began to dawn on Sascha, "You knew I was coming." 

"Reception rang up in case you were a crazed fan," Nick admitted, his eyes continuing to sparkle with amusement. 

"You’re an asshole, do you know that?" Sascha asked, a broad grin breaking out across his face. 

He reached for the pillow beneath his head and threw it at Nick’s face full of no-longer concealed laughter, beginning to break out into laughter himself. With a face full of faked and dramatic shock, Nick collapsed onto his back before readjusting his expression and looking into Sascha’s eyes, reaching up to brush a strand out of his eyes, with a half-smile of contentment playing across his mouth. 

"Another blow to my face, man? I’m pretty sure that’s another apology you owe me…" Nick pondered softly. 

Without saying word, Sascha grinned before edging forward to press his body into Nick’s body. It occurred to him that their pose wasn’t too dissimilar from the one that they had found themselves in on the centre court of Sydney. This time though, he allowed himself to brush his hand down Nick’s torso and reach under the covers causing a soft groan to escape from Nick's mouth. There was a lot to be said for the good manners of apologising.


End file.
